PS 
1772 

S95 
1895 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


'TELL  IT  AGAIN." 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT. 


BOSTON: 
LEND  A  HAND  SOCIETY. 


Copyright,  1895. 


SUSAN'S  ESCORT. 


ISIS' 


I. 

CUSAN  ELLSWORTH  is  as  nice  a 
girl  as  I  know.  I  wish  that  you 
and  I,  dear  readers,  knew  more  such. 
She  lived  just  out  from  Boston  ;  not  at 
Jamaica  Plain,  but  at  one  of  the  most 
convenient  stations  on  that  admirable 
Providence  Railroad — my  road,  so  far 
as  a  person  may  be  said  to  own  it  who 
by  many  punch-tickets  builds  up  the 
fortunes  of  the  stockholders.  Susan 
Ellsworth  was  and  is  a  school- mistress 
in  one  of  the  public  schools  in  Boston. 
Like  most  such  ladies,  she  had  a  fancy 
for  living  at  a  great  distance  from  her 
school,  and  went  and  came  by  rapid  or 
slow  transit,  as  the  gods  and  Mr.  Whit- 
ney might  provide.  This  was  in  the 
daytime,  and  was  easy. 


But  Susan  had  more  difficulty  in  the 
evenings.  Her  brothers  lived,  one  in 
Alaska,  one  in  Yokohama,  and  a  third 
was  studying  medicine  in  Vienna.  She 
was  engaged  then  to  a  man  far  away, 
and  is  now,  if,  indeed,  she  be  not  mar- 
ried before  this  story  goes  to  press. 
Still,  she  had  what  1  may  call  a  passion 
for  evening'  concerts  and  lectures — 
nay,  let  me  whisper  it,  for  a  rollicking, 
laughing  burlesque,  if  the  Vokeses  or 
some  other  nice  people  came  along, 
and,  most  of  all,  for  the  opera,  when  it 
was  really  good.  Now  all  these 
brothers  were  earning  their  own  board 
bills,  so  that  Susan  Ellsworth  was  not 
fleeced  by  them,  as  most  good  school- 
mistresses known  to  me  are  by  their 
brothers.  And,  as  her  salary  was  good, 
she  could  indulge  her  passion  for  these 
evening  entertainments,  for  she  was 
still  young. 


She  tried  at  first  bold  independence. 
Boston,  she  said,  was  a  civilized  city. 
The  streets  were  light,  and  when  elec- 
tricity came  in  they  were  very  light, 
even  at  night.  So  she  pretended  to  be 
bold  when  she  was  frightened.  She 
went  into  the  station  at  Park  Square 
by  rail.  She  took  street  car  or  side- 
walk to  the  Institute,  the  Opera-house, 
to  Mr.  Hale's  reading,  to  the  Old  South 
lectures,  to  the  Museum,  or  wherever 
she  went.  When  the  entertainment 
was  over  she  crowded  into  a  car,  or  put 
herself  in  the  wake  of  some  large  walk- 
ing party  going  her  "way.  And  so  she 
pretended  to  herself  and  to  fellow- 
graduates  from  Yassar,  to  whom  she 
wrote  descriptions  of  her  independent 
Boston  life,  that  she  was  not  afraid. 

All  the  same  she  was  afraid,  and 
knew  she  was;  and  she  was  always 
well  pleased  when,  just  in  time  for  the 


theatre  train  out  to  Readviljfi,  she 
found  herself  safe  in  that  hospitable 
station. 

And  one  night  her  fears  were  justi- 
fied. She  had  gone  to  a  natural  his- 
tory lecture.  It  was  really  the  best 
thing  in  Boston  that  winter,  the  most 
exciting,  the  newest,  and  the  most  en- 
tertaining. So  dear  Boston  had  let  it 
wisely  alone,  and  there  were  not  a 
hundred  people  in  the  hall.  No  one, 
as  fate  ordered,  went  Susan's  way,  and 
so  it  happened  that  a  drunken  dog  on 
two  legs  staggered  up  to  her,  and  asked 
if  he  should  not  see  her  home.  Susan 
was  horribly  frightened.  She  said 
nothing  but  almost  ran.  Fortunately 
that  friendly  policeman,  the  old  man 
who  patrols  that  section,  came  round 
the  corner.  She  gasped  rather  than 
spoke.  He  saw  the  trouble,  gave  the 
drunken  dog  a  bit  of  his  mind,  and 


walked  with  Susan  to  the  station.  But 
she  had  learned  her  lesson  very  thor- 
oughly. She  dared  not  try  mock  cour- 
age again,  nor  purchase  her  independ- 
ence so  dearly.  For  a  fortnight,  al- 
most a  month,  she  was  horribly  de- 
pendent. 

"Dear  Sarah,  if  you  are  going  to  the 
opera  to-night,  may  I  join  your  party  ? 
I  have  a  ticket,  but,"  etc. 

"Dear  Mr.  Primrose,  are  you  going 
to  hear  the  bishop  ?  May  I,"  etc.,  etc. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Armitage,  would  it 
trouble  you  and  Mr.  Armitage,"  etc., 
etc.,  etc. 

And  generally  it  proved  that  Mr. 
Primrose  was  not  going,  or  that  Sarah 
was  to  stay  in  town,  or  that  it  would 
trouble  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Armitage.  Some- 
times poor  Susan  bought  two  tickets  to 
the  opera  and  treated  some  cub  of  a 
pupil.  But  this  was  intolerable  in  the 


long-run.  She  really  thought  she 
should  have  to  abjure  the  world,  have 
her  beautiful  hair  all  cut  off,  give  up 
all  the  modest  amusements  and  vani- 
ties of  her  life,  and  enter  a  convent. 


II. 

But  necessity  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vention. One  day  when  Susan  was  at 
Hollander's  to  be  measured  for  a  new 
walking  dress,  she  saw  whence  her 
safety  might  come.  For  she  actually 
stepped  back  a  moment  for  a  lady  to 
pass  her,  and  then  it  proved  that  the 
lady  was  no  flesh  and  blood  lady,  but 
only  the  frame  of  a  lady,  with  her 
frock  stretched  over  her  neatly,  and  a 
bonnet  where  the  head  is  usually. 
Susan  recovered  herself  from  her  little 
blunder,  passed  her  hand  within  the 
sack,  and  lifted  the  pretty  creature 
from  the  ground.  She  found  that  she 
was  by  no  means  heavy. 

You  see,  of  course,  what  she  deter- 
mined on.  In  two  days  she  had  made 


10 

for  herself  an  escort.  She  bought  a 
cheap  and  light  gossamer  overcoat,  a 
travelling  cap,  a  dozen  toy  masks,  and 
at  a  second-hand  clothing  store  a  pair 
of  badly  worn  check  pantaloons.  She 
also  bought  rattan  enough,  and  the 
wire  of  hoop-skirts,  for  her  purpose. 
She  sewed  to  the  bottom  of  the  panta- 
loons two  right-foot  arctics,  which 
Hugh  had  left  when  he  went  to  Vien- 
na, because  they  matched  only  too 
well.  From  the  rattan,  with  an  old 
umbrella  slide,  she  made  a  backbone 
and  two  available  legs  to  support  the 
mackintosh,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
backbone  she  could  adjust  either  of  the 
masks  which  she  preferred  with  the 
travelling  cap.  The  whole  thing  would 
shut  together  like  a  travelling  easel. 
The  mask  would  go  into  her  leather 
bag,  which,  like  others  of  her  sex,  she 
carried  everywhere.  The  rest  could 


then  be  slid  into  a  long  umbrella  case, 
rather  large  for  a  patent  umbrella,  but 
not  so  large  as  to  challenge  attention. 
Susan  finished  her  little  manikin  early 
in  the  afternoon.  The  hours  crawled, 
they  stood  still,  till  evening  came,  when 
she  was  first  to  put  him  to  his  trial. 
He  was  to  go  to  Lohengrin  with  her, 
and  she  had  bought  only  one  ticket  for 
both. 

Fortunately  it  rained  like  fury.  It 
did  not  seem  curious  that  one  should 
carry  two  umbrellas.  She  might  be 
returning  one,  for  virtuous  and  true 
people,  like  Susan,  do  return  umbrel- 
las sometimes.  Arrived  in  Boston, 
Susan  went  out-doors  to  that  sheltered 
lee  where  you  wait  for  Cambridge 
street  cars.  In  an  instant  she  had 
opened  up  her  new  friend  to  his  own 
proportions,  and  in  a  moment  more,  by 
an  act  not  dissimilar,  she  opened  her 


12 

own  umbrella.  A  moment  more,  and 
she  slid  her  arm  under  the  cape  she 
had  sewed  on  his  mackintosh,  and  they 
crossed  Park  Square  together. 

He  was  a  little  man,  he  stooped  in 
walking,  and  was  ungraceful  in  move- 
ment. But  most  men  are  this  and  do 
thus,  Susan  said  bravely  and  truly  to 
herself.  He  was  not  so  tall  as  she  ; 
neither  were  any  of  the  school-boy  cubs 
on  whom  she  had  been  depending.  He 
had  nothing  to  say ;  neither  had  they. 
Better  than  this,  he  said  nothing ;  alas, 
most  of  them  were  not  so  wise.  He 
could  be  squeezed  into  a  very  small 
corner  if  they  were  waiting  for  a 
crowd,  or  at  a  crossing;  but  they 
stepped  out  and  tried  to  perform  deeds 
of  gallantry.  So  that,  as  she  walked 
with  him,  delighted  to  see  how  people 
turned  out  for  them,  Susan,  as  she  bal- 
anced his  advantages  and  his  disad- 


vantages,  said  that  the  good  far  sur- 
passed the  evil,  as  Robinson  Crusoe  did 
in  a  similar  emergency,  and  as  the 
reader  will,  if  he  will  fairly  compare 
the  plus  and  the  minus  of  this  well- 
governed  world.  Both  parties  sped 
down  Boylston  Street  safely,  and  ar- 
rived without  any  adventure  before 
the  Boston  Theatre.  There  Susan 
walked  into  the  alley  by  the  side  with 
him,  as  if  she  had  been  a  carefully  at- 
tended ballet  girl  a  little  late.  In  a 
second  more  his  face  was  in  her  bag, 
and  his  bones  in  her  light  umbrella 
case,  and  Susan — alone  as  it  seemed, 
but  really  never  less  alone — was  on  her 
way  up  to  the  family  circle,  where  her 
two  umbrellas  took  place  beside  her, 
in  time  for  all  to  see  day  break  in  the 
opera. 


in. 

Prosperous  and  happy  girl,  Susan 
followed  her  new  career  with  success 
and  cheerfulness  such  as  she  had  never 
looked  forward  to.  There  was  in  her 
life  none  of  the  embarrassment  which 
the  other  girls  felt,  who  did  not  know 
whether  they  should  or  should  not  in- 
sist on  paying  their  own  car  fares  when 
their  attendants  offered  to  pay.  Her 
escort  never  proposed  that  they  should 
stop  on  their  way  to  the  train  to  eat  an 
ice,  and  never  terrified  her  by  waiting 
so  long  in  the  ice-cream  saloon  that  she 
thought  they  had  both  missed  the  train. 
Her  escort  never  annoyed  her  by  de- 
preciating Wagner,  or  by  overpraising 
that  sweet  air  in  Trovatore.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  saw  in  a  week  that  the 


15 

other  girls  regarded  her  with  a  certain 
sort  of  respect,  not  to  say  admiration  - 
and  awe,  which  she  had  never  been 
conscious  of  before.  To  be  met  in  the 
street,  now  with  a  dark  Italian,  now 
with  a  foolish-looking  Irishman,  now 
with  a  German  who  scowled  and  knew 
everything,  now  with  a  light-hearted 
Yankee  who  seemed  a  Harvard  Junior 
or  Sophomore — this  affected  Susan's 
reputation  among  her  young  friends  of 
her  own  sex.  They  were  not  surprised. 
No;  they  knew  she  was  well  worthy 
of  any  amount  of  admiration.  Not 
surprised, — no,  only, — well, — yes,  it 
was  different  from  what  it  was  the 
year  before,  when  Susan  had  been  pok- 
ing about  as  if  she  were  nobody  and 
nobody  cared  for  her. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  say  that  Susan 
cared  for  respect  or  admiration  so 
cheaply  bought.  But  if  you  had  asked 


16 

her  she  would  have  owned  that  she  was 
glad  that  she  was  no  longer  the  subject 
of  commiseration  among  her  young 
friends.  In  truth,  she  took  a  higher 
grade  than  a  girl  engaged  to  only  one 
person,  and  hers  is  a  grade  much 
higher  than  the  girl  who  has  six 
brothers. 

Yet  I  really  think  it  was  a  mistake 
that  one  evening  when  Susan,  having  a 
pocketful  of  complimentary  tickets  for 
the  recital,  took  Mr.  Mackintosh  into 
Chickering  Hall  with  her,  and  let  him 
sit  by  her  side  to  listen,  instead  of  leav- 
ing him  with  her  umbrella  in  the  ante- 
room. But  the  recital  was  really  first- 
rate,  so  the  audience  was  very  small. 
Susan  was  very  much  interested  in  the 
success  of  the  young  lady  who  was  giv- 
ing her  first  concert,  and  she  thought 
that  every  seat  that  was  filled  was  an 
advantage  to  her.  But  you  see,  of 


17 

course,  that  it  made  other  people  talk. 
Here  was  this  handsome  young  man 
sitting  by  Susan,  and  for  a  week  her 
fair  friends  were  asking  who  he  was, 
and  how  she  came  to  know  him.  But 
she  did  not  at  first  appreciate  this,  so 
she  made  the  mistake  more  than  once, 
and  I  think  he  heard  more  good  music 
than  was  good  for  him. 

But  as  for  her,  in  "these  halcyon 
days  of  his  first  success,"  she  enjoyed 
her  winter  as  she  had  never  enjoyed  a 
winter  before.  If  you  choose,  in  Bos- 
ton, there  is  nothing  you  may  not  see 
and  hear  and  know  and  understand  in 
the  heavens  above,  or  the  earth  beneath, 
or  the  waters  that  are  supposed  to  be 
under  the  earth.  Susan  found  her 
time  full,  her  hands  full,  her  heart  full, 
and  her  brain  very  much  more  than 
full.  When  she  was  not  in  school  she 
was  writing  up  her  notes  or  reading, 


18 

that  she  might  be  in  a  measure  pre- 
pared for  Mr.  Barton,  or  Mr.  Goodale, 
or  Mr.  Shaler,  or  Mr.  Wright,  or  the 
rest  of  the  savants.  She  knew  the  dif- 
ference between  a  kame  and  a  drumlin ; 
she  knew  the  difference  between  a  moth 
and  a  behemoth,  and  how  the  trunk  of 
one  was  related  to  the  trunk  of  the 
other.  She  knew  that  she  was  herself 
an  ascidian,  and  she  was  as  eager  as 
any  one  to  work  out  the  links  which 
connected  her  with  her  grandfather's 
great-grandfather.  She  dipped  into 
Buchner  and  Helmholz,  and  even  went 
back  to  Helvetius  and  D'Holbach  that 
she  might  get  the  doctrine  at  the  foun- 
tain. So  she  understood  that  if  a  gi- 
raffe without  a  long  neck  only  wants 
one  enough,  he  will  get  it  by  stretching 
up  his  neck  to  the  top  of  the  palm- 
trees;  and  that  if  a  seal  on  the  beach 
wants  a  pair  of  legs,  and  tries  for  them 


19 

hard  enough,  he  will  develop  them,  and 
that  what  there  is  left  of  his  tail  will 
dwindle  down  into  insignificance.  This 
is  the  doctrine  of  the  nisus,  or  effort. 
Susan,  who  was  a  good  girl,  satisfied 
herself  with  the  effort  to  be  very  wise, 
and  hoped  that  it  would  come  out  all 
right;  but  little  did  she  think  all  the 
time  how  the  same  doctrine  was  soak- 
ing into  Mr.  Mackintosh's  empty  head, 
and  what  a  nuisance  it  would  be  to  her. 
This  is  the  reason  why  I  feel  sure  it 
would  have  been  better  to  have  left 
him  in  his  case  with  the  umbrellas  at 
the  door.  But,  as  you  will  see,  it  was 
an  annoyance,  if  you  were  walking  to  a 
lecture  with  a  party,  to  have  to  make 
some  ridiculous  excuse  for  staying  out- 
side; and,  also,  it  seems  rather  cheap 
to  confess  that  you  always  go  to  the 
play  or  the  lecture  with  a  man  who 
cares  nothing  about  Shakespeare  or 


geology,  and  prefers  to  stay  elsewhere. 
It  was  to  the  scientific  lectures  and  the 
really  first-class  concerts  that  she  took 
him  most,  for  to  those  a  school-mistress 
of  her  grade  was  almost  sure  to  have 
free  tickets  sent  her.  As  to  places 
where  she  paid  for  tickets,  she  never 
dreamed  of  taking  him  therte. 

But  it  was  really  as  great  a  misfor- 
tune to  him  as  it  was  to  her.  Empty- 
headed  creature  as  he  was,  of  course  he 
listened  to  nothing,  heard  nothing,  and 
understood  nothing  at  first.  And  it 
never  occurred  to  Susan  that  things 
would  not  stay  on  this  easy  and  cheer- 
ful basis.  But  nothing  stays  on  the 
thoroughly  comfortable  basis.  People 
always  attempt  improvements,  which 
often  result  in  ruin.  So  it  is  that  Vol- 
taire says  that  "the  better  is  the  enemy 
of  the  good." 

One  night   there   were    some  very 


21 

bright  and  wonderful  stereoscopes. 
And  poor  addle-pated  Mr.  Mackintosh 
could  not  help  having  the  rays  come 
through  his  gray  glass  eyes  into  that 
empty  camera-obscura  of  his  head. 
And  of  course  the  picture  could  not 
help  showing  itself  all  up-side  down 
and  hind  side  before.  But  it  amused 
him  and  pleased  him.  And  that  night 
his  mask  had  very  large  ears,  so  that 
he  could  not  help  listening  a  little. 
And  then  he  listened  more.  For  the 
man  was  gesticulating  and  quoting  and 
illustrating  and  making  it  very  plain, 
so  that  if  Mr.  Mackintosh  would  only 
"make  an  effort,"  as  Mrs.  Chick  said, 
all  would  be  well.  I  suppose  he  did 
"make  an  effort,"  as  far  as  rattan  and 
whalebone  could,  and  so  he  formed  that 
habit,  which  proved  bad  for  him,  of 
listening  to  the  man  more.  As  for 
keeping  his  eyes  and  ears  open,  he 


22 

could  not  help  that,  for  none  of  the 
masks  were  made  with  eyes  or  ears 
that  opened  or  shut,  and  he  had  to  look 
and  listen  whether  he  wanted  to  or  not. 
The  rest  of  us  are  more  fortunate. 

Susan,  quite  unconsciously,  hurried 
on  the  mischief  which  had  been  begun, 
by  talking  to  him  herself  as  they 
walked  home  from  the  lectures  and 
concerts.  I  do  not  think  she  did  this 
for  practice  in  talking.  For  she  talked 
a  good  deal  in  the  school-room,  and, 
though  she  is  a  modest  girl,  I  think  she 
must  know  that  without  special  prac- 
tice she  is  as  good  a  talker  as  you  shall 
meet  with  in  a  long  day.  But  she  was 
sensitive  and  conscious  about  the  de- 
ception which  she  was  keeping  up  with 
Mr.  Mackintosh — or  with  the  public  in 
the  affair  of  Mr.  Mackintosh.  Dr. 
Primrose  preached  that  terrible  ser- 
mon of  his  about  "Truth"  just  then, 


23 

and  made  it  clear  that  any  conscious 
deception  was  a  lie,  whether  you  said 
a  word  or  not.  This  worried  her  a 
little.  For  was  she  not  consciously 
deceiving  every  loafer  on  Washington 
Street  or  Boylston  Street?  Had  she 
not  made  Mr.  Mackintosh  on  purpose 
that  she  might  deceive  them?  But  a 
certain  under-consciousness  that  she 
meant  no  wrong  sustained  her  against 
Dr.  Primrose,  and  at  first  the  stings  of 
conscience  only  pricked  her  so  deep  as 
to  make  her  resolve  that  she  would  not 
be  found  out — no,  not  if  she  met  Dr. 
Primrose  and  Mrs.  Primrose  both.  So 
she  thought  it  more  prudent — that  was 
the  word  she  used  in  discussing  it  with 
herself — to  keep  up  an  animated  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Mackintosh  in  the 
street  when  she  observed  that  any  one 
was  near  them.  And  indeed  this 
proved  so  agreeable,  as  conversation  is 


24 

apt  to  when  you  do  all  the  talking,  that 
she  kept  it  up  all  the  time  from  the 
lecture  or  concert  to  the  station.  Af- 
ter they  came  to  the  station,  she  always 
folded  him  up  in  some  recess  of  the 
ladies'  waiting-room.  For  the  Provi- 
dence railway  conductors  are  pitiless, 
and  would  have  been  sure  to  demand  a 
ticket  for  him. 

"That  is  a  magnificent  harmony  at 
the  end  of  the  third  act."  No  audible 
reply, — but  one  so  seldom  hears  both 
sides  of  a  conversation.  "I  was  not 
sure  but  Gloria  strained  a  little  in 
striking  the  non;  but  it  was  all  so  good 
that  it  is  absurd  to  pick  out  flaws." 
Again  Mr.  Mackintosh's  voice  is  lost  as 
those  firemen  rush  by.  Or,  "Could 
you  quite  follow  him  in  what  he  said 
about  the  permanence  of  type  ?  How 
can  it  be,  if  the  type  is  permanent,  that 
we  should  notice  the  transition,  as  Mr. 


25 

Shaler  pointed  it  out  Tuesday  ?  But 
then,  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  Mr.  Shaler 
and  Mr.  Barton  quite  agree  about  that. 
You  must  remind  me  to  ask  him.  Or 
we  might  send  a  note  to  Notes  and 
Queries"  Now  if  the  bishop  himself 
had  heard  that,  or  Mrs.  Bishop,  neither 
would  have  minded,  or  remembered 
afterward,  that  Mr.  Mackintosh  said 
nothing. 


IV. 

But,  alas,  simple  Susan  carried  on 
this  rattling  and  interesting  conversa- 
tion quite  too  far  and  too  long.  Mr. 
Mackintosh  had  been  making  all  the 
"nisus"  or  "effort"  he  could,  in  lis- 
tening to  the  stereoscope  man,  and  he 
had  all  the  encouragement  of  the  suc- 
cess of  the  giraffe  and  the  seals.  Now 
here  was  this  bright,  wise,  merry  Susan 
Ellsworth  who  bore  him  along,  who 
was  the  result  of  just  such  efforts  as  he 
was  making.  And  he  found  it  much 
more  agreeable  to  listen  to  her  sweet, 
low-toned  voice  just  in  his  ear,  her 
breath  fragrant  as  clover,  and  her  hand 
under  his  arm  beating  a  pulse  in  keep- 
ing with  all  she  said — he  found  all  this 
much  more  agreeable  than  straining 


27 

his  poor  little  new  wits  to  make  out 
what  the  man  on  the  platform  a  hun- 
dred feet  away  was  howling  about. 
So  he  was  always  distressed  when  any 
of  her  friends  joined  them  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  protection,  and  when 
Susan  turned  away  from  him  to  speak 
to  Maud  or  Clara.  To  say  the  truth, 
this  did  not  happen  often.  For  Maud 
and  Clara  had  the  same  proper  pride 
about  hitching  on  upon  other  people's 
escorts,  as  had  governed  Susan  in  her 
independent  days. 

While  poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  made 
this  nisus  or  effort  to  hear,  he  was  all 
the  time  making  wild  and  futile  efforts 
to  speak.  For  these  he  had  wretched 
organs  and  more  wretched  opportuni- 
ties. For  one  night  in  the  family  cir- 
cle, where  Susan  had  unfolded  him 
after  they  had  passed  the  ticket-gate, 
he  had  seen  the  policeman  seize  two 


28 

boys  who  were  catcalling,  and  hale 
them  off  he  knew  not  whither.  So 
poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  was  frightened, 
and  did  not  dare  to  try  experiments  in- 
doors. Then,  as  soon  as  they  came  to 
the  railway  station,  Susan  always  ruth- 
lessly shut  him  up,  and  he  had  no  or- 
ganization at  all.  Literally,  he  "  went 
to  pieces,"  and  it  was  not  slang  to  say 
so.  One  night,  in  a  high  gale,  Susan 
was  dragging  him  beside  her — or  rather 
behind  her — and  he  tried  to  speak,  but 
nothing  but  a  great  howl  came  out, 
which  was  half  a  sneeze.  She  did  not 
suspect  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
it.  And  the  poor  creature  was  dread- 
fully mortified  by  his  failure. 

But  another  night,  very  imprudently, 
she  left  him  sitting  in  a  chair,  in  the 
anteroom  of  the  hall  of  the  "Sons  of 
Idleness."  The  hall  had  been  hired  for 
a  "  reception "  which  was  given  by  the 


29 

graduates  of  Vassar  to  one  of  the  pro- 
fessors who  was  going  to  Germany  on 
his  Sabbatical  visit.  Susan  thought  she 
was  safe  in  leaving  Mr.  Mackintosh  in 
a  dark  corner  without  folding  him  up. 
And  so  she  was.  He  sat,  with  his  chin 
on  his  hands,  as  she  left  him,  and  thus 
he  had,  for  once,  the  chance  to  try  his 
various  gruntings  and  howlings,  and  to 
pass  through  the  experiments  of  the 
ascidian  to  the  more  articulate  lan- 
guage of  the  man. 

Fortunately  for  him,  he  had  some  les- 
sons just  when  he  needed  them  most 
and  expected  them  least. 

For  one  of  the  other  escorts,  who 
had  been  taken  into  the  reception  hall, 
came  running  out,  and  helplessly 
rushed  up  and  down  the  waiting-room, 
annoyed  that  he  found  no  one  there. 
But  in  his  despair  he  saw  Mr.  Mackin- 
tosh. 


"Ugh — ah — glad  to  see  somebody — 
ugh — could  you — can  you — yes, — 
would  you  tell  me,  please, — ugh,  you 
know, —  don't  you  see?  —  where  the 
water  is  ? — Miss  Maelstrom — ugh — is 
faint — you  know!" 

Mr.  Mackintosh's  time  had  come. 
Imitation  was  his  cue,  clearly,  as  in 
Rosenthal  and  Pendergast.  With  one 
sublime  effort,  he  echoed  the  other, 
wondering,  as  he  did  so,  whether  per- 
haps he  had  as  much  brain. 

"Ugh," — tremendously  prolonged, — 
"  ah," — shorter,  but  very  long, — "  glad 
to  see  somebody," — this  hopelessly  in- 
distinct from  eagerness,  like  an  Edison 
turned  three  times  too  fast;  "could 
you — can  you — can  you — could  you," 
— this  slower, — "  water — Maelstrom — 
ugh — ah — yes,  you  know."  But  for- 
tunately, in  his  agony  gesticulating 
like  a  school-boy  who  forgets  his  piece, 


he  pointed  his  finger  to  the  looking- 
glass,  where  stood  pitcher  and  tumbler 
in  full  sight  of  both  of  them. 

"  Ugh — oh — thanks — yes — so  much 
— so  much  obliged,  you  know, — thanks 
— ugh,  oh,  Miss  Maelstrom," — and  Mr. 
Knowitz  vanished  with  his  tumbler. 

Mr.  Mackintosh  had  tried  and  had 
succeeded,  and  on  these  sounds  he  prac- 
tised all  the  evening. 


Y. 

Would  she  give  him  another  chance 
for  practice?  Alas,  no!  or  it  seemed 
no.  That  night  as  they  went  home 
there  was  a  great  group  of  Vassarites, 
all  bubbling  over  with  fun — efferves- 
cing and  sputtering  as  so  many  bottles 
of  XX  might  do  which  had  been 
warmed  at  a  sociable  all  the  evening. 
And  he  thought  Susan  had  never  been 
so  remorseless  as  she  was  in  undoing 
him  that  night.  The  next  evening  was 
worse.  A  gentleman  joined  her  on  the 
other  side.  And  poor  Mackintosh  was 
afraid  for  his  very  life  as  they  swung 
along.  It  was  not  till  the  third  night 
that  he  had  a  chance,  or  so  it  seemed 
to  the  poor  witless  creature. 

But  on  the  third  night  the  chance 
came.  Susan  was  in  the 


spirits.  The  night  was  clear  and  cold, 
and  they  devoured  the  pavement  as  she 
rushed  him  along.  "Well,  my  dear 
Mac,"  said  she,  mercilessly,  "that  was 
first-rate.  I  do  not  wonder  women 
want  to  speak,  if  they  could  speak  like 
that.  Mac,  if  I  could  get  Mr.  Edison 
to  give  me  one  of  his  plates,  I  would 
attach  it  to  you,  and  you  should  repeat 
the  end  of  Mr.  Brice's  lecture." 

"  Ugh — ah — you  know — well — Miss 
Susan — ugh,  ah, — give  me  a  chance — 
you  know — and  I  will  do-'em-all." 
The  end  was  badly  run  together. 

"What,  you— my  dear  Mac ! "  This 
was  all  Susan  said,  and  she  almost 
dropped  him  in  the  gutter  in  her  sur- 
prise, and  she  lost  her  own  speech  for 
laughing.  She  laughed  so  that  she 
shook  him  from  his  cap  to  his  arctics, 
and  all  the  poor  breath  he  had  in  his 
limp  ribs  was  knocked  out  of  him. 


34 

And  when  she  came  to  herself,  all  she 
could  say  was,  "Poor,  dear  Mac!  I  beg 
your  pardon,  but" — then  she  broke 
down  again — "but  whoever  dreamed  of 
your  talking  ?  " 

But  then  it  was  poor  Mac's  turn. 
She  had  to  listen,  and  he  told  her,  with 
many  unnecessary  "ughs"  and  "ahs," 
and  "you  knows,"  and  "don't  you 
sees,"  that  he  was  sure  he  only  needed 
more  practice  to  speak  quite  well.  It 
was  true  that  he  could  not  manage  r, 
and  he  always  called  //z,  d;  but  so  did 
many  gentlemen  he  met.  He  needed 
extra  breath,  but  "ugh"  and  "oh" 
seemed  to  help  in  this.  And  when  he 
had  not  an  idea,  he  could  fill  in  with 
"don't  you  see,"  and  "you  know." 

"You  poor  dear  thing,"  said  Susan, 
compassionately,  as  she  unscrewed  his 
head  and  put  it  in  her  bag,  "  you  are 
really  eloquent." 


VI. 

But  the  reader  will  see  that  a  good 
girl  like  Susan  could  not  shut  up  the 
face  just  now  eager  in  its  entreaties, 
and  go  to  sleep,  after  she  had  silenced 
it,  without  serious  thought.  Here  was 
a  matter  of  conscience  more  formidable 
than  that  question  about  veracity  which 
Dr.  Primrose  had  started.  Was  it 
quite  honorable  in  her,  was  it  fair,  nay, 
was  it  right,  to  start  this  poor  feeble 
creature  in  his  career,  to  let  him  par- 
take of  a  little  taste  of  the  wonders  of 
science,  of  art,  and  of  music,  and  then 
to  snuff  him  out,  like  a  candle,  simply 
because  she  chose  to  ?  Susan  tossed  in 
her  bed  a  good  deal  before  she  went  to 
sleep,  with  these  questions  troubling 
her.  And  early  in  the  morning,  when 


36 

the  singing  birds  first  wakened  her  by 
their  carols  to  the  rising  sun,  she  rose, 
screwed  Mr.  Mackintosh  together,  tied 
him  to  an  arm-chair  in  her  entry,  and 
left  him  to  enjoy  the  sunrise.  As  she 
went  to  sleep  again  she  could  hear  him 
practising  an  imitation  of  this  morning 
hymn  of  the  birds,  who  were  Plymouth 
Rock  cockerels.  The  poor  brainless 
creature  did  not  know  any  better ;  he 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  these  were 
the  morning  songs  of  men.  Susan  was 
pleased  with  herself  for  this  act  of 
mercy,  and  she  did  not  take  him  to 
pieces  till  it  was  time  for  her  to  go  to 
school 

As  it  happened,  he  was  this  time  shut 
up — and,  so  to  speak,  ceased  to  be  as 
an  individual — longer  than  had  ever 
happened  to  him  before.  For,  to  her 
delight,  as  the  school  recess  came, 
Susan  received  a  card,  and  visit  close 


37 

following,  from  George  Farmer,  the 
fine  young  engineer  officer  to  whom,  as 
I  said,  she  was  engaged.  By  good 
luck,  and  by  good  strategy  of  his  own, 
he  had  got  himself  ordered  to  Boston, 
to  make  a  contract  for  some  ice  for  the 
meat  cars  of  the  Cattaraugus  and  Opel- 
ousas  Railroad.  With  good  luck,  this 
ice  contract  and  certain  subsidiary  ne- 
gotiations were  made  to  last  a  fort- 
night, and  during  that  whole  time 
Susan  needed  no  escort  other  than 
George,  and,  in  truth,  thought  very 
little  of  any  other.  But  at  last  the  last 
day  of  George's  visit  came,  as  last  days 
will,  and  then  she  began  to  think  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  to  have  nobody 
but  Mr.  Mackintosh  to  go  anywhere 
with  her.  Still,  she  was  less  disposed 
than  ever  to  cut  off  her  hair  and  to  re- 
tire into  a  convent. 

Wisely,  therefore,  the  girl  submitted 


38 

the  question  to  her  lover.  But  she  did 
it  in  a  guarded  way,  which  I  would  not 
recommend  to  other  good  girls  in  a  like 
position;  if,  indeed,  there  ever  may  be 
such  girls.  As  they  came  home  from 
the  Symphony  on  that  wretched  fare- 
well night,  she  said  :  "  George,  I  want 
your  advice.  You  are  so  good,  and  — 
you  are  never  jealous.  You  see,  when 
you  are  away,  I  have  no  one  to  go  with 
me  to  the  concerts,  you  know,  and  the 
lectures." 

"You  used  to  boast  of  your  indepen- 
dence when  I  first  knew  you." 

"I  know — yes,  I  did.  But  I  was 
very  foolish."  And  then  she  told  him 
of  that  horrid  fright  she  had.  And  he 
was  very  angry,  and  swore — just  a  little 
— and  made  her  promise  to  run  no  such 
risk  again.  This  made  it  easier  for  her 
to  go  on. 

"  No  ;  I  knew  you  would  not  let  me. 


That  is  why  I  did  not  write  you  about 
it.  But  what  I  did — you  must  not  be 
angry — was  to  hire  a  poor  stick  there 
was,  with  nothing  to  do,  to  come  and 
go  with  me.  You  do  not  mind  that,  do 
you?  "  And  here  she  looked  up  at  him 
with  her  most  roguish  and  confiding 
smile.  But  George's  face  clouded ;  she 
could  see  it  did. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  he.  "That 
would  depend.  What  sort  of  creature 
is  he — an  old  man  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  do  not  know.  Don't  be 
jealous,  now.  I  do  not  suppose  he  is 
very  old ;  perhaps  he  is  very  young. 
You  see,  he  was  deaf — and  dumb — and 
blind — and  could  hardly  walk.  So  I 
did  not  suppose  you  would  care." 

At  this  George  grinned  a  somewhat 
ghastly  smile,  and  said  he  didn't  care 
quite  so  much ;  but  asked  how,  if  the 
man  was  deaf,  he  could  enjoy  concerts. 


You  will  observe  also  that  Susan 
wandered  from.  Dr.  Primrose's  instruc- 
tions. She  said  Mr.  Mackintosh  "  was  " 
deaf  and  dumb — she  did  not  dare  say 
"  he  is  " — and  there  was  conscious  de- 
ception again.  In  answer  to  her  lover 
she  said :  "  Enjoy  the  concerts  ?  Who 
ever  said  he  enjoyed  the  concerts?" 
She  was  a  little  reassured,  as  women 
are,  because  he  had  made  an  unimpor- 
tant mistake.  "  You  do  not  suppose  I 
ever  bought  a  concert  ticket  for  him, 
do  you  ?  No ;  I  take  him  as  I  would  take 
a  cab  after  the  concert  was  over.  Dear 
George,  you  must  not  be  jealous  of  him 
more  than  you  would  be  of  a  cabman." 

"  You  do  not  take  a  cabman's  arm," 
said  George,  a  little  irresolutely ;  and 
Susan  shuddered  as  she  recollected  with 
how  firm  a  grip  she  had  to  take  all 
the  arm  Mr.  Mackintosh  had.  "  What 
is  the  wretch's  name  ?  "  continued  he. 


41 

"  Name  ?  "  said  SusaD.  "  Do  you  ask 
your  cabman's  name  ?  I  never  asked 
him.  We  call  him  Mr.  Mackintosh, 
from  the  coat  he  wears,  but  I  never 
asked  him  his  name.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve he  has  any." 

This  encouraged  George  a  little  ;  but 
still  he  said  he  did  not  think  it  was  nice 
or  wise,  and  that  nobody  but  as  inno- 
cent and  sweet  a  girl  as  Susy  would 
ever  have  fallen  into  so  silly  a  plan. 
He  even  asked  if  other  girls  in  Boston 
had  to  hire  their  escorts.  At  which 
Susy  said  that  other  girls  had  escorts 
who  did  not  live  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, or  in  Opelousas  either ;  and  at  that 
Mr.  George  had  to  come  down  from  his 
high  horse.  It  ended  by  a  compromise. 
She  agreed,  when  she  went  anywhere 
alone,  to  order  a  cab  regularly  at  a 
stable  he  named,  and  he  declared  that 
the  next  time  he  came  to  Boston  he 


should  pay  the  bill.  Whether  she  would 
let  him  or  not  was  left  undecided  in  the 
final  ceremonies  of  the  farewell.  For 
he  left  in  that  horrible  train  which  goes 
off  at  eleven  at  night,  and  there  was  no 
question  but  that  he  must  go. 

So  all  Susan  had  got  by  asking  advice 
was  that  she  was  worse  off  than  she  was 
when  she  asked  for  it.  This  is  what  is 
apt  to  happen,  dear  Clara,  when  you 
do  not  tell  your  whole  story  to  your 
adviser. 


VII. 

And  now  she  must  deal  with  Mr. 
Mackintosh  alone,  by  her  own  unas- 
sisted sense,  such  as  it  was.  Really  it 
was  stronger,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  in 
the  inventive  and  mechanical  lines  than 
it  was  in  the  philosophical  and  ethical 
lines. 

Of  course  she  could  have  left  Mr. 
Mackintosh  where  he  was — his  legs  and 
arms  in  the  glazed  umbrella  case,  his 
masks  in  her  alligator-skin  bag,  and  his 
arctics  on  the  floor  of  her  closet.  But, 
as  has  been  said,  she  did  not  think  this 
fair.  She  had  thought  of  burning  him 
up.  But  she  was  too  strong  a  Protes- 
tant; her  reminiscences  of  Smithfield 
and  John  Rogers  were  too  strong,  and 
that  she  would  not  do.  She  had  called 


44 

him  into  such  being  as  he  had,  poor 
creature,  and  she  would  not  destroy 
her  own  work.  "That  would  be 
simply  mean,"  she  said  to  herself; 
"  that  would  not  be  fair." 

So  she  took  another  morning  when 
the  cocks  were  crowing,  and  screwed 
him  together,  and  tied  him  to  a  chair  as 
before.  Poor  Mr.  Mackintosh  did  not 
know  how  long  he  had  ceased  to  exist, 
any  more  than  Mr.  Hyde  knew  how 
long  Dr.  Jekyll  had  been  running  the 
machine.  Nor  was  the  poor  thing  as 
wretched  as  the  girl  chose  to  fancy  him. 
For,  as  he  had  none  of  that  essence 
which  loves  and  fears,  hopes,  admires, 
and  worships,  he  had  nothing  worth 
remembering,  if  he  could  remember,  as 
he  could  not ;  and  nothing  to  look  for- 
ward to,  if  he  could  look  forward,  as  he 
could  not.  But  this,  simple  Susan  did 
not  consider.  She  simply  screwed  him 


together.  He  listened  to  the  cock-a- 
doodles,  as  he  did  before ;  and  if  he  had 
thought,  as  he  could  not  and  did  not, 
he  would  have  thought  that  this  was 
thus  and  then  was  now. 

Then  Susan  went  to  bed  and  slept 
till  the  dressing-bell  rang.  As  she 
dressed,  she  began  a  little  note  to 
George,  for  she  had  promised  to  write 
to  him  twice  a  day.  But  after  break- 
fast, before  school-time,  she  came  up 
and  brought  Mr.  Mackintosh  into  her 
room  and  locked  the  door.  He  had 
never  been  in  that  room  before. 

"  Mac,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  not  want 
you  any  more.  What  do  you  want  to 
do  ?  What  do  you  like  to  do  most  ?7' 

"  Oh,  ugh,  ah — you  know — don't  you 
see — well,  you  know — ' 

And  Susan  was  patient,  for  she  often 
had  such  remarks  addressed  to  her  by 
her  partners  who  were  not  skilful  in 


46 

extempore  speech.  So  she  waited. 
And  at  last  it  came,  as  gas  comes  after 
the  puff  of  air  in  a  poor  gas-pipe. 

*'  If — you  know,  Miss  Susan — I  could 
go  to  some  of  those  parties — receptions 
— like  that  of  the  Sons  of  Idleness. 
Indeed,  Miss  Susan,  I  can  talk  as  well 
— as  the  young  men  I  see  there." 

"  I  think  you  can,"  said  Susan.  "  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  my  work  if  you 
could  not.  I  had  thought  of  that,  Mac. 
But  I  cannot  do  it,  for  you  have  no 
pumps  nor  patent-leather  shoes.  And 
your  trousers  are  not  good.  I  have  no 
money  to  throw  away  on  parties.  Think 
of  something  else,  Mac." 

It  is  not  worth  the  while  to  load  the 
page  with  poor  Mac's  "  ohs "  and 
other  "  spaces."  In  substance  he  then 
asked  if  he  might  not  be  a  juryman. 
"  I  thought  I  could  ;  you  know  they  do 
not  have  to  know  anything,  and,  indeed, 


47 

are  better  when  they  do  not." 

"That  is  good,  Mac.  I  had  not 
thought  of  that,  but  I  will,"  said  the 
girl.  And  so  she  took  his  head  off  and 
shut  him  up,  and  took  this  plan  into 
consideration.  But  of  course  she  did 
not  assent  to  it.  That  same  day  she 
read  the  Court  Calendar,  and  was  dis- 
tressed to  think  that  she  had  yielded 
even  for  an  hour.  When  she  went 
home  she  put  Mac  together,  and  told 
him  that  this  would  not  do. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  very  piteously, 
"  might  I  not  be  an  under-editor  to  an 
independent  journal.  You  know  they 
do  not  have  any  opinions,  and  are  very 
proud  that  they  do  not.  I  am  sure  I 
never  had  any  opinions.  I  do  not 
know  what  an  opinion  is."  But  this 
time  Susan  was  not  deceived ;  this  was 
only  the  jury  plan  under  another  form. 
Then  Mac  pleaded,  quite  eloquently 


48 

for  him,  that  he  might  stay  just  what 
he  was.  He  had  seen  the  red-capped 
messenger  men  at  the  station.  He  en- 
vied one  of  them  his  one  arm,  because 
practically  poor  Mac  had  no  arms  at 
all.  "  Now  I  could  not  go  of  errands, 
Miss  Susan.  But  you  say  yourself  I  do 
my  work  well.  You  could  fasten  me  at 
the  door,  and  any  one  who  wanted  me 
would  unfasten  me." 

"  My  dear  Mac,  you  do  not  see.  The 
secret  would  be  discovered,  and  then 
the  roughs  would  not  mind  you.  Don't 
you  see,  Mac,  you  cannot  knock  a  man 
down.  You  might  as  well  be  a  woman, 
for  all  the  good  you  are  in  your  own 
business,  unless  people  think  you  are  a 
man.  And  if  they  do  think  so,  it  is 
because  I  '  consciously  deceive  '  them. 
Oh  dear  !  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  you  had 
never  been  born  ! "  And  the  poor  girl 
broke  out  crying.  But  she  did  not  say 


"  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born,"  for  the 
memory  of  George's  last  kiss  came  to 
her. 

"  I  had  thought,"  said  Mac,  "  of  vot- 
ing. What  you  say  of  women  reminds 
me  that  they  cannot  vote ;  but  I  can." 

"  No,  you  can't,"  said  Susan,  smartly, 
for  she  knew.  "  You  have  not  regis- 
tered, and  you  have  not  been  assessed." 

"  I  could  register,"  said  Mac. 

"  You  can't  register ;  it's  a  very 
smart  person  who  knows  how  to  regis- 
ter; and  besides,  you  can't  read  the 
Constitution.  So  it  would  be  of  no  use 
if  you  could  register." 

"  No,"  said  Mac,  sadly,  "  I  cannot 
read  the  Constitution.  You  don't  think 
I  could  be  a  minister  ?  " 

"  No,  you  couldn't.  There  are  some 
kinds  that  know  very  little,  bat  they  all 
have  to  know  something." 

"  Nor  a  doctor  ?  " 


50 

"N-o,  Mac;  at  least,  I  believe  not. 
I  think  they  have  to  know  something." 

"  Nor  a  lawyer." 

"No,  certainly  not.  You  have  no 
eye-teeth.  And  they  have  to  be  cut  be- 
fore you  are  a  lawyer.  I  heard  Judge 
Jeffries  say  so." 

And  then  they  waited.  "  I  will  talk 
to  you  again  by-and-by,"  she  said.  And 
then  she  ran  down  stairs  to  meet  the 
postman,  and  found  just  a  little  postal- 
card,  on  which  George  had  written  in 
French  that  she  was  the  dearest  girl  in 
the  world,  and  that  he  should  always 
love  her.  Immediately  on  this  she  took 
Mr.  Mackintosh  to  pieces,  dressed  her- 
self for  the  Appalachian  Club,  went  to 
Boston,  and  tried  her  pretty  cab  for  the 
first  time.  It  was  really  an  elegant  little 
coupe",  and  the  stable-keeper  had  put 
the  driver  in  livery.  George  had  writ- 
ten to  him  from  Springfield  that  the 


51 

coup6  must  wait  for  Miss  Ellsworth 
every  evening. 

But  the  next  morning  Susan  brought 
her  little  drama  to  an  end. 

She  screwed  Mr.  Mac  together  once 
more,  and  said, "  Tell  me  yourself  what 
you  want  to  be." 

"Could  I  not  be  Vice-President," 
he  said ;  "  till  the  President  died,  you 
know  ;  or  Lieutenant-Governor,  or 
something  like  that  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Mac;  they  might  not  know 
when  to  unscrew  you." 

"  Could  I  not  be  a  trustee  ?  I  believe 
trustees  have  to  be  cautious,  and  not  do 
the  rash  things  other  people  do." 

"  I  had  thought  of  that,  Mac,  and  I 
inquired.  But  you  would  have  to  give 
bonds.  Now  no  one  would  give  bonds 
for  you.  I  am  sure  I  would  not."  This 
was  cruel  in  Susan  ;  but  sometimes  she 
is  cruel. 


52 

"  Then,  Miss  Susan,  why  cannot  I  be 
what  I  am  ?  " 

"  Because  I  do  not  want  you." 

"  But  somebody  else  might  want  me. 
I  could  stand  in  front  of  tailors'  shops 
with  new  clothes  on.  I  should  like  to 
be  that.  I  see  a  great  many  young  men 
who  do  that  and  nothing  else,  and  they 
seem  to  like  it  very  much." 

"  You  dear  old  Mac !  "  cried  the  girl ; 
"  you  have  more  sense  than  any  of  us — 
at  least  more  than  I  have.  It  is  the 
best  sense  possible  to  be  what  you  are, 
and  pretend  to  nothing  more.  I  knew 
that,  though  I  have  never  tried  it,  for 
Mr.  Emerson  says  so." 

So  she  went  with  him  to  Cutter  and 
Dresser's  that  very  day.  They  are  the 
great  ready-made  clothing  men.  And 
they  took  Mac  at  once  off  her  hands 
literally.  And  they  put  on  him  that 
handsome  Garrick  you  saw  me  wearing 


63 

yesterday.  That  was  the  way  I  came 
to  know  the  story. 

And — will  you  believe  it  ? — one  day 
when  they  had  dressed  him  in  a  cos- 
turner's  suit  as  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  old 
Mac  forgot,  and  began  walking  up  and 
down  the  balcony  on  which  he  was 
standing.  The  people  in  the  street  saw 
it,  and  fancied  he  was  a  wonderful  au- 
tomaton. They  stopped  in  hundreds 
to  see  him,  and  of  the  hundreds  scores 
went  in  to  buy. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  tri- 
umphant success  of  Cutter  and  Dresser. 
They  owed  it  all  to  Susan,  and  1  think 
they  will  send  her  a  pair  of  salt-spoons 
for  her  wedding. 


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